


Your Body, Bread & Wine

by Bloodsbane



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cannibalism, Canon Asexual Character, M/M, Monster Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Monster Martin Blackwood, Non-Graphic Violence, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), but it IS vaguely erotic, consensual cannibalism, regeneration abilities used for gay and dubious purposes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:42:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27792490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodsbane/pseuds/Bloodsbane
Summary: Martin eats. He eats more, now, than he’s ever eaten in his life. Three meals a day, real food, warm and sweet and well-seasoned, if Jon has anything to say about it — and Jon always has something to say about everything. It’s good. Martin eats. He enjoys it, and he keeps it down, and it’s warm and comforting in his stomach until it’s not anymore. Until there’s nothing, and the nothing is raw and dark and yawning. He wonders if this is what it might feel like, to swallow something Vast, to experience a pocket of space so wide and deep and void it drives someone insane.Martin is hungry, always hungry.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 78





	Your Body, Bread & Wine

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct sequel to my fic [Settle, Damp and Heavy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25966729). I'd highly recommend reading that one first, if you want any context for the situation in this fic. 
> 
> Special thanks to Spade for beta reading!

When Martin finds Jon- **  
**

When the two of them flee England-

The fog follows, still. Martin knows it’s there, hidden in his lungs, his stomach. It is, oddly enough, a source of minor comfort in the aftermath of… of everything. He cradles it in his body, a careful, cold secret to bring along to Scotland. 

Jon is dark-eyed and tired and worn, like a stone cliff against the sea, but he’s beautiful, too. He’s something else to hold onto, and Martin isn’t afraid of that, not anymore. And somehow, after everything, they come alive in Scotland. The house is a husk, and it groans on its foundations, and they cry for a long time. 

But the sun is warm, even through the mist of the highlands, and the wind and the rain. 

Martin loves Jon and he loves the quiet of the swaying grass and he loves the deep, terrible, aching pain of what he’s been running away from for months. He lets it swell and rise in his body and it’s a comfort, it’s heavy and solid and he knows it’s real because it feels like everything he’s ever tried to hold onto is there with him. It’s settling. 

They are settling in. But. 

Jon is hungry, always hungry. And it’s hard, and they talk and talk and cry and sometimes they argue, and sometimes only Martin’s arguing, and Jon’s just sitting there looking lost and weepy, and Martin makes them tea so that he doesn’t just stare. Jon’s hungry and it nearly kills him, but Martin starts going into town after the first month, starts talking to people again. It’s hard, it hurts, but he does it for the satisfaction of burning, and then he does it because he can taste something familiar on the cashier of the small general store. Can taste it on his tongue like an over-strong perfume. 

Martin has learned a lot about Jon’s eating habits since they came to Scotland, and he sees it’s the same with statements, now, as with any other kind of food. Jon eats with meticulous care, with a thank you very much and a sip of water once he’s done. The cashier gets water, too, and tissues, and Martin’s satisfied that Jon’s satisfied. 

Until later, when Martin is still thinking about the cashier, and suddenly the comforting weight inside of him is absent. 

In the space is hunger. 

Martin eats. He eats more, now, than he’s ever eaten in his life. Three meals a day, real food, warm and sweet and well-seasoned, if Jon has anything to say about it — and Jon always has something to say about everything. It’s good. Martin eats. He enjoys it, and he keeps it down, and it’s warm and comforting in his stomach until it’s not anymore. Until there’s nothing, and the nothing is raw and dark and yawning. He wonders if this is what it might feel like, to swallow something Vast, to experience a pocket of space so wide and deep and void it drives someone insane. 

Martin is hungry, always hungry. 

For weeks, the hunger persists. Martin doesn’t like to think about it, and he’s not sure of it, and he doesn’t want to worry Jon, he doesn’t want to worry period, he wants to enjoy the sunlight and the hills and the cottage and the quiet. But then his breath comes cold, and Jon can see that something bad is happening: Martin is going to starve if something doesn’t change. 

Attempts are made at feeding, in the gentler way that seems to be working for Jon, but they’re half-hearted and unfruitful. When Martin tries, it’s difficult and awkward and he doesn’t feel anything afterwards. There’s no chance of him stalking or haunting the people of the village, luring them off their paths and into the lonely countryside — Martin would rather let the hunger take him. But Jon won’t allow it. 

More than once, Jon tries to Know how to feed Martin, but it’s like he’s a permanent blind spot. Jon can’t Know anything about Martin, which has mostly been a relief, riding some undercurrent of unease that Martin can’t really justify. So Jon has to try it the old fashioned way, asking Martin when the hunger started, and if it’s happened before, and what he did last time to make it go away. 

Martin doesn’t want to tell, but apparently being unable to Know things about Martin doesn’t mean he can’t be compelled. It’s something he can resist — maybe something he could fight and overcome, if he wanted. But Martin’s weak and doesn’t want to fight; he wants to eat. 

So he tells Jon about Peter, and about Elias, in more detail than he’d been comfortable with before. Jon’s only slightly horrified, and given the fact that everything about their lives has become horrifying, Martin opts not to blame him or take it personally. 

“I’m not-” Martin tells him, “going to eat anyone.”

And he won’t. His repulsion over the idea is almost stronger than the hunger, enough to keep him from considering it seriously. But Jon just looks at him with those dark eyes, swimming with knowledge, and Martin gets the idea that Jon doesn’t believe he’ll have to sacrifice innocent people to his boyfriend to keep him fed. 

At first, Martin objects, nearly sick at the suggestion, and angry enough at Jon for even bringing it up that they don’t talk for two days straight. But then the Lonely is gnawing at him, fog living heavy in his lungs, and Martin knows he’ll waste away if he keeps this up. He has a choice, but it’s a terrible one. In the end, he decides he doesn’t want to leave Jon alone again. 

The first time Martin partakes is the hardest, though who has the worst time, it’s hard to say. Martin’s teeth feel dull and clumsy, and the taste of Jon’s blood makes him feel queasy — at first. The broken, choking noises Jon makes, noises of pain, are almost enough to make Martin stop, but then the warmth of his body is inside of Martin’s and there’s nothing to be done. Martin is very, very hungry. So he eats. 

The arm grows back by morning, leaving no mark of its absence but tiny stains on the mat in their bathroom. 

It gets easier, somehow. Martin can hardly believe it, but taking Jon — tearing into him — even begins to feel natural. Instinctive. He sometimes craves the taste of Jon’s flesh idly, as one might anticipate their favorite dish for dinner. When he holds Jon, while they’re in bed or when they’re on the couch, Jon reading a book as Martin naps or reads over his shoulder, sometimes Martin touches Jon in a way that is distinctly… appraising. He remembers the sweetness of Jon’s skin, the hot, sticky tang of blood flowing down his throat. Often Martin is forced to redirect his urges into necking, petting, just enough that Jon will tolerate it. Merely mouths at the man’s heartbeat through his skin, instead of biting into it.

He’s sure Jon knows, and doesn’t understand why he doesn’t seem to mind. Isn’t it disconcerting, living with something that threatens to consume you? 

Martin doesn’t have to feed often — only once a month, roughly. He makes jokes about turning cold-blooded, like a snake, only having to eat one meal every so often to keep him going. It’s a bit bleak, but it makes Jon laugh, and Martin loves him so very much. 

So much that every month becomes every week, his cravings mounting. He tries to keep himself in check, at first. Tries to hide his longing stares, the way he licks his lips. But then Jon comes to him, a shy look on his face, and Martin knows he understands and wants to give of his own accord. Perhaps, too, his own desire. The noises he’s been making lately aren’t so much out of pain, or if they are, the pain is only part of it, adding to other sensations.

Once, on a whim borne mostly from impatience and lust, Martin takes him in their bed. He makes a beautiful, bloody mess on the sheets, and the noises that come from Jon... Martin swallows them, too, lets them fill him up. It’s a greedy thing to do, but it tastes like love and company, and Jon only ever pulls him closer.

Martin loves to lick his teeth hours later and find Jon there, tucked away, delicious. 


End file.
